


The Vivid Obscurity

by IdlePace



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M, Rough Kissing, Sloppy Makeouts, Teencast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdlePace/pseuds/IdlePace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rythian the goth and Lalna the neon boy.<br/>How quickly opposites attract.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vivid Obscurity

Since he saw him stick out like a sore, dark and bruised thumb, he wanted to know. Test if a goth’s skin was as cold as their emotional exterior. He wanted the makeup smudges to be stained to his fingers. Taste if the black lips were cherry or if such a touch would burn him for life.

The boy with the light up shoes almost brighter than his screaming neon pants was hungry to know. He thought to tempt the shadowy character, entice him with one his highest prized possessions that was snug in his forgotten backpack. Or perhaps amaze him with the newest gadget strapped into his belt loop that never gave a sound besides the dreaded call home.

He craved for the tall boy to crack more than a sarcastic joke, and see the stark comparison between his black coverings and his bone bleached teeth. For that sharp tongue polished through clever rebuttals and spewed anger to lick the inside of his mouth clean and every span of warm flesh to be savoured. The blunt chewed down nails to sink into his skin and leaves marks in one of the many colours the goth boy was unfamiliar with.

Used and dried up glow sticks bound in a circle around his wrist from weeks ago fell together as his arms rose up. He licked his lips as he dreamed of breathing in every smell and taste inside and out of the goth. Every sense desired something from him, almost too needy, thirsting to have it all at once. The unholy bright neon boy wanted to feel the rehearsed bark against his skin and each breath to dust along his face.

He wondered if his words would do. If he would call and the goth would crawl like the skittering beings he had industrial fascinations about. The response he would get, he dreamed it would clang in the other teen’s throat like rusted copper piping; to have his sounds rushing with gritty leftovers from what previously dwelled in his mind.

No matter what he decided on, he had to make a move. A chance of seclusion with the goth, a gift staring him right in the center of his eyes, had never happened before. Contemplating on every single aspect of each plan, he felt his body drift closer, his craving for attention mounting.

“Hey,” His pathetic opening spurred a mental punishment, cursing every spilling thought, “How’s being goth treating you?” Another mental slap and he almost debated on whether he should ever open his mouth again.

The gloomy boy couldn’t even spare him a glace with his colourless eyes, hardly a scoff of recognition. The silence was poisoning, the very stale air seared his gums. If it weren’t for the low clink of the metal belt buckle scrapping together as the goth adjusted, the amassing quiet would have suffocated the bright boy’s life.

To cross his arms would be to shut off the potential conversation that obviously would never occur, but the neon teen couldn’t help but always be lured by glimmers. Studying every word to the letter and extended sounds, he tried speaking again, “Goth’s are against society, capitalism and norms and all that jazz right?” He held himself back from the screaming in his mind as the goth’s lips tweaked.

“Not the most intelligent way of putting it, but more or less yeah.” The drip of his vowels and the round of his mouth ensnared the neon boy even more than he thought possible. He wanted to extract the voice and let it speak to him at night and have it tell him sinful thoughts as hands crawled up his legs.

His smile tried to let his lewd thoughts seep out of the corners of his lips as the goth ran with a follow up, “Lalna, what are you trying to get at?” He could feel his hunger only steal a sample as his name was pushed by the very lips that spellbound his mind.

“And you,” He corrected his voice as he could feel it grow small, “You like to do things that go against social norms. So things like the dark clothing and lack of expression, right?” He could feel his frantic patterned shirt stick tightly to his body as sweat began to bead on his skin.

An additional sound to the dark apparel moving was an unannounced second movement to the symphony the neon teen scored in his head. “It’s not just that. There’s more to it than appearance-”

“But Rythian, you stand against norms.” Lalna’s voice poured out in chopped fractions as he was caught by the wannabe corporal eyes. He wanted to stutter to ease the tension mounting in every space under his skin but the out of character nod from the teen across from him was enough to put out his fires. “So, making out with me would totally be against the norm.”

The towering teen rolled the thought around in his mouth, like marbles following from cheek to cheek, as if he was tasting the merit of the idea. The dark purposefully drawn circles around his vacant eyes bolded the undecided question that he let float. As if acknowledging an original thought beyond his own, he broke customary character to nod again.

Lalna could almost feel his hands rub together even as they hung limp at his sides, “You want to break some norms then?” He couldn’t suppress the roll his feet took as he bounced on the tips of his toes while his words tripped out in one pile.

The thought was savoured in Rythian’s mouth, pushed around and held down, comfortable with the clamped teeth. The skin taped skeletal fingers pointed off in unknown directions as his hand was carried away, “Yes. Let’s break some norms.” 

Nothing under the life bringing sun could have ever prepared the neon decorated Lalna for the following second. There was no warning, no lead up, hardly even a sound, just tongue. It was virtually reptilian as it was shoved down his throat, slipping dangerously like it wanted to sample his last meal. Every point on the teen that appeared jagged was crueller than first glance. Fingers buried themselves into his plump sides and jerked his messy blonde hair.

All the contact, the fire it stoked was almost unbearable and Lalna couldn’t contain the heat. He let his head fall back with the force and his Adam’s apple snapped tight into a single spot. Caring less about the state of his back as structures dented him his hands dug into every piece of black clothing he could grip. The usually solemn goth’s mouth ate every spec of warm skin it could find. His razor-sharp teeth pulled at anything in their way, sparing no sliver of lip or chunk of the feeble tongue that danced with them.

Sounds emptied Lalna’s rib cage in hordes of pitches in every octave. He had lost thought and words, only noises were a possible response. He wanted to speak the entirety of the human language to find anything to fit his senses, but the mouth only devoured him faster, like it couldn’t care less. Lalna couldn’t find a drop of air to spare as his mouth constricted around the slick tongue. His chest trembled, barely able to inflate each lung enough to stay lucid. Too much spit that wasn’t his, too little breath that was cool.

When he pulled back, desperate to gasp until he became lightheaded, he was reeled in with fixed fingers planted to his skull. Lalna almost considered to make a mental note for his ledger about a goth’s lack of the need to breathe, but mechanically had his mind stick deeply to the thought that he was receiving a form of the kiss of death. That the teen who bent like a crane to reach him required his very soul, sucking every last morsel from all the cells in his body. If this was to be his death, than he’d want it harder, tenfold.

Forcing himself to discard his apprehensions, he greeted the ravenous tongue with one last moan. His breath left him like forgotten mist and entered the goth whose defense failed as he offered a grunt in return.

Changing hands, it was a heaven sent movement of forgiveness. Release on his head, it was unbound; he could now break to breathe. Lalna neglected any reflection to the insatiable hands that crept under the back of his pants or the practically inhumanly sharp teeth that sought to scar his neck. All he could concentrate on was the immediate expansion of his chest; a breath in, and a breath out.

He didn’t know what drove the goth under his fingers to such a fierce edge, or where he possibly stored his well hidden fervent energy, but it was something he made note of. Warm saliva dripped down his neck and his craving question crashed into the back of his teeth. The animalistic tongue tried to sneak between his lips, thirsty again, but Lalna had to let his question escape, “Do you want to, do this again? And again, and again… at my house?”

This time, they shared the taste of the words together. As if the consonants were rough, and the soft vowels at the back of his throat were pushed by the tongue for him to swallow. They echoed the vibrations they harmonized together, collectively forcing to connect, only to peel away in the same second. Lalna could now feel the slimly coat of makeup smeared along his lips. His thumb was too slow to be rid of it as again the tongue was against him, destroying the evidence. He didn’t think of the flavour it slowly engulfed, the only thing his senses picked up was the blistering murmured word.

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> An extremely sweet person made fanart of this!!  
> http://fawkespryde.tumblr.com/post/99344220029/mm-hmm-i-love-me-some-goth-and-lolita-outfit-so


End file.
